He waits in the desert for the healer,
wings wrapped tight as a tout’s mac,
heels driving, toeclaws gouging, deep.
Stones into bread, miracle, power:
to and fro on the hot, disregarded earth,
the serpent floods his venom sacs:
aware that venom turns to medicine
in the healer’s hands.
Hopeful of success or failure,
he waits in the desert for the healer.